


Kissing for Science

by Lucy_Ferrier



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Dont copy to another site, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Ferrier/pseuds/Lucy_Ferrier
Summary: Sometimes the best way to figure out yourself is to follow scientific method, even when you can't quite manage to stick with it.Toby's theory was that he was queer. And that he possibly really liked Adil in particular.
Relationships: Toby Hamilton/Adil Joshi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Kissing for Science

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](https://aziraphalesangel.tumblr.com/post/626570572033359872/aziraphalesangel-szonklin) and [this](https://lesbianholster.tumblr.com/post/626565344550633473/aziraphalesangel-szonklin-theladyigraine) post. mostly its just kissing and toby taking himself slightly too seriously. it was mostly just fun to write something short again

Toby was, first and foremost, a researcher.

What he was researching was in fact, irrelevant.

What that meant, in practice, was that when things happened, to himself mostly, when things made his brain catch hold of a thought, a memory. Catch hold and wind and twist it up until he was a shaking panicking wreck, what brought him back to himself was those very logical practices. That formula, used to break down something that wasn’t or couldn’t be understood, break it down, rationalise it, not _away_ as such, but simplify it down, until it made sense and he could breathe again.

The kiss in the cellar had thrown him off, for a number of reasons. The first being, of course, the fact that he hadn’t expected it. How could he have? He’d only wanted to hide, he hadn’t had time to think about how he’d pushed back a very specific someone against the shelves, only known that, perhaps, Adil would not have minded getting that close.

Toby supposed, technically, he’d been correct on that count.

He’d have time to work through the fact that, actually, there had been plenty of cause to believe that the kiss _shouldn’t_ have perhaps been as unexpected as Toby had thought. Not in the sense that he should have known getting that close to Adil would have tortured him enough to try; more so in the fact that Adil had wanted to at all.

_And wasn’t that just its own torture; every little detail within every little interaction falling into place? Every half smile and thinly veiled compliments – cocktails and coffee._

The second, perhaps more important, in that it was somewhat distressing to Toby to suddenly be so forced into self-awareness, was the fact that not only had Toby _leaned into it,_ not only the fact that Toby had _kissed him back,_ but that the fact that, perhaps, Toby might not have leaned back at all, run away at all, if it weren’t for the fact that _Adil_ had pulled back first, and so quickly too, not even half a second after Toby had opened his eyes, all too aware of what he was doing. And suddenly there was nowhere Toby could have hidden, nowhere he could have forced his emotions back down. Everything was laid bare on his face _and Adil wouldn’t stop looking._

The fact that he hadn’t been looking at Adil in horror because _Adil_ had kissed him; but the fact that _Toby_ had let him, _and enjoyed it._ That swoop in his stomach when Toby had glanced back down to Adil’s lips, knowing it was something he shouldn’t be able to want.

It felt like he’d betrayed himself.

His fingers had shook around his cigarette, clenched around his scotch glass. He’d smoked and drunk more than he should have, really, considering it was a wedding, but not so much that he’d be properly inebriated. Certainly not so much that Freddie thought anything was off with him, but that may have had more to do with his preoccupation in regards to Emma.

Of course, it was only natural then, that he’d spend as much time as he could get away with watching Adil after that; it wasn’t calculating as such, Toby wasn’t very good at calculating. Too emotional, his father had always said. But the mix of curiosity and systematic rationalisation was enough to keep Lawrence’s voice quiet in the back of his mind; he was dead, he’d never know anyway.

 _Not everything is simple_ he told Freddie. But what could Freddie know of that?

Of course, in any experiment, one must have a control variable. And as much as Toby would have liked to have counted the kiss in the cellar as that control, it honestly made more sense at that point in time, in regards to collecting data anyway, for him to set the control as what was supposed to be normal. What was, in fact, normal for most people.

Which is why, when he found himself seated next to Theresa once again, this time in the basement awaiting the siren that would then allow his next attempted escape, Toby tried, he actually tried really hard, to carry a conversation with Theresa. He couldn’t quite bring himself as far as considering kissing her, in truth he actually forgot that was the point. Because even as she accidentally managed to direct the conversation away from the pros and cons of specific horse breeds, the only reason Toby managed to remain present in the conversation enough to appear as if he might have even been enjoying himself, was the fact that whilst he was still thrumming from the adrenaline rush of the kiss, he was far too terrified to analyse it while there were other people in the room, especially when he could not escape one particular woman’s attention.

But he watched Adil after, back in the bar and studiously ignoring Theresa once more, to the point when she eventually just sat quietly and tried to look small. Tried not to draw attention to the fact that her date, arranged or not, wanted nothing to do with her and was no longer even humouring her. Toby might have felt guilty if he hadn’t been so preoccupied now that Adil was back in his line of sight, but he was beginning to come up with an idea. He’d call it a conclusion, but he hadn’t tested it yet beyond comparing it to his disinterest in Theresa; technically that could only make it a hypothesis, a theory, with some very basic data to set him up.

His _theory_ was that he was queer. And that he possibly really liked Adil in particular.

It probably should have continued to scare him more than he was feeling at that moment. Distantly Toby supposed that it’d hit him properly when he finally got a proper moment alone – when the guests cleared out and he could justify disappearing into his room without drawing his mother’s ire, distracted as she was with her new, _ahem,_ friend.

The thing about a _theory_ though, was that in order to come to a definitive conclusion, one has to not only collect, but assess the data. And, for the sake of ensuring that the conclusion was sound, the sample size had to be increased. No scientist in their right mind would call a theory accurate from a single test, nor a single comparative.

Which now brought Toby to his current predicament; how was he supposed to convince Adil to let him kiss him again, in order to prove his hypothesis was in fact, correct.

Although in his head, Toby didn’t sound nearly as coherent, let alone clinical. There was in fact, significantly more panic and excitement. Perhaps a tiny amount of terror.

Standing now, in his room the morning after, trying to decide if that barely there smile Adil had tucked into a champagne glass when he’d seen Toby reject Theresa, was enough of a hint, he dressed himself on muscle memory. Toby might have actually managed to knot his tie properly had Adil not entered the room, forcing every last coherent thought out of his head. He imagined himself mournfully watching his thought processing skills disappearing under his bed, a small part of himself wanting to follow them under the mattress.

Toby couldn’t make himself look at Adil. He wanted to. Really, _really,_ wanted to. He wanted to see his face and make sure what he was about to do was the right thing, wanted to make sure it wasn’t a fluke. The break in Adil’s voice stung something buried so far in Toby’s chest he hadn’t even known it existed, that first edge of repression that had slowly started to release that piece of something yesterday. That break held promise that Adil didn’t mean what he was currently saying, promise that he _had_ meant the kiss in the cellar. But the words were contradictory, and Toby felt his hands start to shake, fumbling the tie as he rushed to spit the words out, the ones he’d practised, the ones he wanted to say, to make up for running away, the ones that would, hopefully, make sure that Adil didn’t currently try and do the same, but he couldn’t get them out fast enough and Adil was reaching for the door.

_Ties might just be the most ridiculous and pointless item of day-wear in existence._

_But maybe they were good for one thing. Only one thing, mind you._

If he thought kissing Adil in the middle of his room would have accurately replicated the results from the previous day, technically Toby’s hypothesis would have been incorrect. Without the obliviousness, without the sudden realisation and fear, that complex mash of panic and excitement, and with an entirely new does of intention on both parts, well.

Kissing Adil in the middle of his room because both of them wanted to, was in fact, _much_ better than being kissed by accident surrounded by bottles of spirits, where anyone might have seen. It was like those last few pieces Toby had been holding onto overnight finally fell into place alongside the others.

Of course, one does not base a conclusion off a single set of data.

So naturally, he kissed him again. Adding slightly more pressure, the barest hint of tongue, just to see what would happen, sliding his hands from Adil’s jaw down his throat but not quite as far as his shoulders when he matched him, trying not to let the way his face wanted to split into a grin break the kiss when he felt Adil’s hands slide around his waist.

…

If that initial theory had sought to prove Toby’s sexuality, then, of course, the follow up experiments would have to focus more on preference and enjoyment. Toby, of course, didn’t say this too himself in so many words; merely unconsciously came up with the idea when he found out that perhaps kissing Adil against a wall might have been minutely better than standing in the middle of the room with no leverage.

Consciously thinking about it mostly involved Toby sitting cross legged in the middle of his bed, pyjamas rumpled, face flushing as he glanced about his room mentally taking note of where he had kissed and been kissed, where he wanted to try again, and where he would like to try next. It had only been a handful of days, it wasn’t his fault that there were so many possibilities still, that he was still figuring himself out. And it wasn’t as if Adil wasn’t keen on helping as such, even if he wasn’t explicitly aware of what was going on in Toby’s head.

In the end, it wasn’t so much that Toby planned where to kiss Adil next, or when, or even that he made any sort of note to do more than _do that again,_ whether it was at another time, or more likely, immediately. Data should be replicated in threes after all. It wouldn’t do to mess it up now, even if, well.

Even if it didn’t matter so much, in that initial context. Toby very much doubted that his conclusion, even in a clinical sense, would amount to anything more than pointing out that he liked kissing Adil whenever and wherever he could.

But that didn’t stop him from following through anyway, mentally calculating the differences between them all regardless. Between morning kisses, half awake and eyes still closed, Adil curled around him and kissing at his neck because that’s all he could reach. Adil giggling about Toby _“kissing by braille”_ when Toby, still half asleep tried to kiss him back and caught his nose instead, and evening kisses, when Adil slipped in after a shift, Toby’s jacket, tie and shoes already discarded, high on several hours-worth of eye contact and carefully controlled touches.

Compared again to morning kisses when Adil had to go home the night before; Toby crowding him up against the door, and tracing Adil’s face with his hands. Afternoon kisses when Toby was working when Adil came in, Adil pushing him up against his desk until papers fell to the floor and Toby could link his ankles around the back of Adil knees, all thoughts of statistics and datasets erased from his mind and replaced with a thrumming need for _more_.

Goodbye kisses that were little more than a brush against a cheek, because Toby would be down in the bar in under an hour anyway, and the goodbye kisses when Adil had to go home, when he had the day off tomorrow but Toby had to work through the weekend and they wouldn’t be able to see each other until Monday.

Hello kisses when Toby showed up at Adil’s flat unexpectantly after and air raid siren and didn’t want to be alone, the two of them curled up on the single bed mattress or leaning against the sink sipping tea out of tin cups, Adil kissing away the frown between Toby’s eyebrows that appeared because Adil didn’t have any sugar. Hello kisses when Adil showed up in Toby’s room on his break because he wanted a nap, seeing neither was allowing the other much sleep on the nights they were together, regardless of how many lines they’d crossed.

Kisses on the bed that were innocent, not much more than checking where the other was, Adil drawing Toby back out of his head, tasting the cocktails he’d mixed him earlier on his tongue. Toby kissing hidden hurts away after one too many cruel and patronising patrons in the bar struck Adil with snide comments and blatant insults. Ail kissing away tears when Toby finally crashed after working himself into a panic over work, or his family; each and every time he thought maybe this time would be the time Freddie didn’t come home. Gentle kisses after Adil gave in and called in sick, Toby kissing away the nicks and cuts after Adil’s eyes and hands had lingered just too long on his razor.

Toby took note of all of them, in part to remind himself to do it again, to follow it up, replicate the data, because he wanted to and because it kept him grounded, though at this point he regarded it all more with fondness than with analysis. He took note of all the kisses and touches; he came up with all the reasons he needed to remember them all, and all the little details, but he never even once allowed himself to consider the possibility that maybe the reason he remembered all the ways he kissed and was kissed was because, as buried as the idea was, Toby was all too aware that what he had, right now, was all too finite. While his mother was mostly preoccupied these days, and as such her matchmaking had slowed somewhat, that didn’t stop her comments and her slightly more half-hearted attempts at setting him up with all the daughters who couldn’t catch, and never would catch, Freddie’s attention. Ignoring the fact didn’t stop the bombings that got closer to both the Halcyon and Paddington, it didn’t stop Joe’s raised eyebrow in the bar and it wouldn’t stop Lucien’s nauseous look even when he promised not to tell.

But until then, Toby kissed Adil, across his room, throughout Adil’s flat, kissed him hello and goodbye and kissed him _I miss you_ , and kissed him _I want you_ and, very, very quietly he kissed him _I love you_ because he hadn’t quite managed to find the words yet.

And Toby mentally wrote his conclusion, in the back of his mind as he watched Adil sleep. He assessed all the data he had, every kiss, every replication, and his conclusion was just that much more than he had assumed it would have been in the beginning, because his conclusion was inexplicably that Toby was very much in love with Adil.


End file.
